Times
by Patano
Summary: They met each other years ago. They've loved each other for years. They've experienced many things together. They've been close to each other through different... times. A collection of oneshots based on different themes, showing our couple at different time planes. Sybil/Tom. Scenes from 3x05 onwards - Sybil lives.
1. Love and War

_A bit of an introduction - this is going to be a collection of oneshots based on various themes connected with Sybil/Tom ship. Each oneshot will show our favourite couple in at least two different time planes. The tone will be varied - angst, fluff, humour. Please bear in mind that I'm not a native English speaker, so the style or grammar may be far from perfect._

_**Dedication**_

_This collection of oneshots is dedicated to all my fellow S/T shippers on fanforum. I would like to thank you here for putting up with me, my ramblings, and sometimes even my walls of text. Thank you also for many lovely discussions. Most importanly, thank you for all the comments to these oneshots, which helped me to improve them._

_Patano_

* * *

**Love and War**

**August, 1914**

_My lords, ladies and gentlemen. Can I ask for silence? Because I very much regret to announce...that we are at war with Germany._

Sybil Crawley did not understand what these words really meant at the beginning; she just knew that they meant drastic change, and definitely not for the better. At first glance, it seemed that nothing had changed – the sun was still intense, providing a light, cheerful background for a pretty picture of white-clad people among the grass. But the frame surrounding this picture was dark and was only getting darker. Slowly, even the picture was no longer proportional and ordered, but it became chaotic and blurry; people started to move quickly, talking and gesturing. She, on the other hand, did not make even the slightest move. Neither did her older sister. Mary Crawley was not considered to be a very expressive person, but now her face resembled more that of a mask than of a living human being. The only trace of emotions could be found in her eyes, which shone with anxiety, pain and regret.

Sybil Crawley, then, was not known for being passive; she had to do something even when the atmosphere was far from sunny. She took a few, tentative steps at first, which were however soon followed by many firm ones_. There's nothing like solitude when you feel that you need to truly reflect on something._

The world had not ended, the wind was still blowing, and the grass had not lost its colour, but her inexperienced soul did become darker. Questions, doubts and anxieties were raging within her young body.

_What will happen to them now? Will Matthew go to war? And if he's killed, who will be the heir to Downton? Will Papa go, too? And… __**him**__? And where's her place in all this? What if something happens to Papa, and she will have to marry someone and move into her own home? Is she ready for this? She has nothing against marriage, but she does not want to be forced into anything against her will. Yes, it may be sappy and naïve, but she intends to marry for love, and if she does not find the right man, not at all. She's young and lacks experience, but she knows that she cannot do anything that would be at odds with her views and beliefs. What about the duties towards her family, then? If she could help them in such a way… Would she be able to refuse them, or even to defy them?_

The subject of men and marriage reminded Sybil of another important event that had happened today. Today, for the first time in her life, she had held hands with a man. With… **_him_**. She had never had a male friend before, a true friend who had understood her. She had met some nice men, of course, but she did not treat them as friends. Talking to them during a party or a dinner was pleasant and enjoyable, but there was no mutual understanding or connection similar to the one she shared with Branson.

After today day, though, she had doubts whether this was only friendship. When he had taken her hand, she had felt butterflies in her stomach, an odd warmth had spread around her body and had rested near her heart, and the world had become hotter. She had never felt such sensations before. Her interest in men had never been considerable; she had not been participating in the race to the altar in which Mary and Edith took part. _So, her time has come, and now she has a crush on the family chauffeur. She will grow out of it one day, of course, but she still must admit that it is pleasant_.

Deep in her thoughts, Sybil didn't notice that it was getting darker. She should go home now and see her family's worried faces. War wasn't the only reason for their sadness – Mary and Edith also suffered from heartbreak and rejection. War and love… no wonder that these two themes had always served as an inspiration for countless writers and artists. Sybil had a sinking suspicion that they would govern her life for the years to come… though she didn't know exactly why.

**January, 1919**

_Lavinia and I will get married. Just as soon as I'm well enough to walk down the aisle… Doctor Clarkson can help us with when. And… she feels we ought to marry here, at Downton, to bury forever the memories of what, I hope, has been the darkest period of my life._

It was those words that had finalized Lady Sybil Crawley's, or rather Nurse Crawley's (as she preferred to be called now) decision.

The sky was pitch black, with stars blinking weakly under the cover of clouds. It was a perfect night for someone who did not want to be noticed, especially if that person was too elated to think rationally. The manner of Sybil's walk was careful, but quick and impatient; she longed to see him as soon as possible. She was imagining what he would be like after hearing her final decision, and couldn't do anything but smile broadly. Then their lips would finally meet and she would finally find herself in his arms. Sybil knew that she should be elated because of Matthew's recovery, but at that moment Tom stole all of her thoughts (to be completely honest - like he very often did.). Matthew and Lavinia's announcement had made her realize that it was time to move forward with life, that the war was truly over, not only formally but in people's minds too. Yes, she felt sorry for Mary, but some things were irreversible, and it was good that her older sister would get a chance to move forward with her life as well. She could only be glad that Mary's fate should not befall her; she was going to accept Tom's proposal before he gave up on her. Though she had to admit that she owed this more to this dear man's patience than to anything she'd done. Keeping the man, whom she had known for years that she loved, waiting was hardly a thing to be proud of; but at least there wasn't even a shade of doubt in her heart, and she felt completely ready to rise to the challenge awaiting her.

There was no more confusion in her soul, only warm light radiating from her heart and spreading throughout her whole body. Her mind slowly wondered to all the sufferings she had endured in the last few years. She recalled the painful longing, anxiety, indecisiveness, worries about the future. When the war started, she had been just a young girl who'd never thought seriously about her future, a novice in love who had not known yet what she had really wanted from life, perhaps only what she hadn't wanted. War and love had turned her into a mature woman who was ready to pursue her heart's desire and to start a new, adult life. War and nursing had freed her from the gilded cage and had introduced her to the real world outside the aristocratic "fairytale". Love, then, had opened her eyes to new possibilities for the future, a future which was not dictated by social expectations, but based on her sweetest dreams.

A beam of light coming from the garage turned her mind away from all her thoughts and forced her to concentrate on the real world in front of her eyes. The light coming from the garage was spreading and gently illuminating the otherwise dark picture. Sybil knew that she wouldn't mind if this scene would always be the portrait of her soul.


	2. Happiness

**Happiness**

Tom Branson has always thought that happiness is a goal of utmost importance, not just something that we can have as a bonus. When we pursue happiness, we also learn how to love justice, truth and honour. We cannot be happy without others, so we also have to learn how to live with fellow people in peace and friendship. He, then, cannot understand why some people constrain themselves and place happiness low on their list of priorities or pursuit it in a way that does not leave them truly happy in the end. For him, there is no happiness without freedom, no happiness without personal choice, and happiness based on imposed rules and expectations is happiness robbed out of its essence.

There is however something even more important than the pursuit of happiness – it is giving this happiness to others. He truly believes that people should share happiness with the rest of humanity and help others to achieve it. For him happiness does not entail selfishness; where there is no respect or thinking about another person, there is no true happiness.

That's why his biggest dream right now is to make _**her**_ happy. He's not delusional or arrogant – he's known her for many years, she's his best friend. He knows that she could never be happy living the life her parents want her to live; she wants something else, and he can give her that. But why should she pursue it with him? He sighs, _because she loves him_. Yes, she's never said these three little words, but it's an unvoiced mutual understanding between them; she sends him clues and he picks them up. They know each other so well that they can do it that way. Though it doesn't mean that he does not hate it. Tom Branson believes in honesty and openness, he cannot comprehend or accept the English way of expressing emotions – indirect and restrained. The English aristocracy has even managed to take this to a next level. Yes, Sybil Crawley is not a typical aristocrat, but she was brought up in this environment and she surely does know how to use the stiff upper lip for her purposes.

He hates all this indirectness, clues and keeping your feelings at bay. He knows and understands that she's afraid of acting on her feelings, to leave the only world she's ever known behind. He's ready to wait as long as necessary. But he still _hates _this lack of honesty.

He believes in breaking free from society's expectations, he believes in the pursuit of happiness as long as it does not hurt anybody. He hopes that she believes in all of this, too.

* * *

It's evening already and Sybil Branson waits for her husband to come back from work. When she finally hears Tom's footsteps near the door, her heart flutters gently with delight. It truly has happened, he is finally her husband, and they will never be separated by anyone. She often has such moments, when the fullness of her happiness dawns on her, and she feels like her heart is about burst from joy. She's made it – she's finally summoned the courage to leave her old life behind. They've made it – they've faced her parents together, as an inseparable unity.

Tom's face lights up when he sees her, and his eyes shine with love for her. But there's something else written on his face – pain, a certain weariness that is hidden beneath all the (genuine) happiness. This worries her. It's the only thing that spoils her own joy – this feeling that while Tom does everything in his power to make _her _happy, he's not fully happy himself.

Sybil knows that it's not her fault; she also knows that he still loves her as deeply as ever and that their life together brings him the same joy that she experiences daily. No, it's not her fault. But it's the fault of people who represent her former life. The fault of people who believe themselves to be better than others.

Tom's idealistic heart aches for his country and its people. She cannot do anything to ease this pain.

Her smile fades, which casts a shadow also on his face. 'What is it, love? Are you not feeling well? Does the baby give you any trouble?' he asks, and Sybil can hear signs of worry and anxiety in his voice.

'It's not that. Everything's perfect or… almost perfect,' she answers, not willing to lie to him. After she had accepted his proposal, she promised herself that she would be more honest and open with him from now on. She intends to keep to this promise.

Tom's eyes are cast downwards. 'I'm so sorry, darling. Believe me that I'm doing everything in my power to make you happy. I will never cease to do that.'

Sybil can't take it any longer; the last thing she wants at the moment is to add to his worries. She only wants to be honest with him.

'No, you don't understand. You make me very, very happy. Happier than I could have ever imagined. But you've forgotten about one thing, darling.'

She now looks him straight in the eye, 'I cannot be happy when _you _are not happy, Tom. This is not possible. I'm your wife, I can recognize when you're suffering even if you're trying to hide it. Besides, you're not really good at hiding you feelings, love,' she finishes in a slightly teasing tone.

'I suppose so. We've exchanged roles, haven't we? Now you're the one who speaks about your feelings openly, and I'm the one who hides them. How ironic.'

'I suppose that my granny sees us as one great irony,' Sybil laughs.

'While your ironic granny sees irony everywhere, I think that we've exceeded her tolerated irony level.'

He finally smiles at her, then reaches for her hand. 'You're right. I just didn't want to worry you, especially in your condition. But I should be honest with you. With whom else can I be entirely open if not with my darling wife and best friend? I suppose that I really need to talk about my worries with someone, and I know that it can only be you.'

Sybil notices that his eyes are glowing not only with love for her, but also with implicit trust; she can once more feel the delicious warmth around her heart. Together they head to the room, wanting to do only one thing: to completely open their hearts and minds to each other.

By the time the day is over, Tom Branson makes amends to his philosophy (and this isn't something he does often). _Happiness_, he thinks now,_ does not only lie in being true to yourself and thinking about others - it lies also in sharing your world, all its darker and sadder aspects included, with another person._

* * *

_There's not much "proper" S/T interaction in the first two chapters, but I promise there'll be more of it in future chapters :)_


	3. Dream

_Happy Downton Day everyone!_

_Thanks you for all the great reviews, favs and follows :)_

_As you could expect, this chapter is again from Sybil's POV. The next chapter will be once more Tom-focused._

_Any feedback is much, much valued. I have some ideas for future oneshots, but it would be lovely to get some feedback or know what you would like to read about/what side of S/T would you like to see explored. Your comments serve as a source of encouragement and may be also an inspiration :) Guest reviews are enabled.  
_

* * *

**Dream**

_"Being a nurse and just getting on with it is the bridge between her [Sybil's] dreaming of Branson and actually being able to act on it."_ – **Julian Fellowes**

* * *

**April 1913**

_She sits on the verge of the bed, trying to calm herself to sleep. Mama and Papa said their goodnights, planted tender kisses on her forehead, and left to their own bedrooms. Sybil reaches for the book at the bedside table – she earlier asked Papa to read her a passage from Sir Walter Scott's "Ivanhoe". She secretly admires the character of Rebecca – a healer, not a lady of the castle. A woman who had to face society's prejudices, but was strong enough to deal with all the hardships on her way. She didn't win the hero in the end, that's true, but then Sybil finds Ivanhoe to be rather bland and uninteresting; he was best suited to his future wife, Rowena, a perfect example of a lady. A perfect knight and a perfect lady. She is taught to be a perfect lady, too. Of course, she is not expected to encounter a perfect knight on her way. But then, there is this concept of a "perfect gentleman"… Granny, Mama, Mary and Edith talk about it quite often. Sybil knows that Edith pities Rebecca for being rejected for a more conventional beauty and that Mary sees Ivanhoe's choice as simply the only reasonable one – a high-born knight should marry a lady, and they ought to live in a big castle together for the rest of their lives. The youngest Crawley girl also thinks that Ivanhoe should marry Lady Rowena – but only because he made a promise to her earlier, so he should stay true to her, both when it comes to his heart and marital choice. Papa, then, thinks that discussing this matter is pointless – it would be simply impossible for Rebecca and Ivanhoe to be together. Sybil does not understand what her father means, and he is not willing to explain it to her. "You wouldn't understand", he says and ends the discussion. This doesn't prevent his daughter from thinking about being like Rebecca before falling asleep. She would be a healer, helping people recover and ease their pain. As for a perfect knight or even a perfect gentleman – it certainly wouldn't be bad to share such a life with someone. But she isn't sure whether this person needs to be a "gentleman". Imagining this new kind of life, Sybil slowly succumbs to her drowsiness; the rain outside the window lulls her to sleep, while her mind gradually wanders to medieval forests, good and strong men, and a persevering, dark-haired female healer._

A loud thunder wakes Sybil up. She sits up in her bed, trying to see anything in the darkness of the room. As she is slowly regaining full consciousness, she lets out a loud sigh, _So it was all only a dream_. She isn't afraid to admit to herself that she has enjoyed it greatly. Everyone likes to feel like their little self from time to time. While trying to recall her childish dreams, the young girl smiles to herself. _But what is problematic_, she thinks aloud, _is that I still haven't abandoned those dreams entirely. I would still love to be like Rebecca. I still find it fascinating to be a medieval healer. I still would like to have someone by my side who would understand and love me for who I am._

The rain stops falling. Sybil slowly rises from her bed and approaches the window. _I'm sixteen right now, I should start to have realistic dreams. I'm not that 10-year old girl. I know now why Rebecca and Ivanhoe could never be together. But what are my dreams now? None. I'm not cynical and I love life, but what is life without any dreams?_

Sighing, the young girl turns from the window and cautiously tiptoes back to the bed. She covers herself with warm sheets and closes her eyes; but she isn't able to fall asleep again this night.

* * *

**1915**

Despite the heavily falling rain, Sybil Crawley heads to the garage. She feels so, so lonely today. Mary has gone to London to visit Aunt Rosamund, Mama still hasn't woken up yet and Edith has decided to visit Granny. Papa then, is too absorbed in reading news from the front and various correspondences; but if she's to be sincere, they rarely talk these days because they do not see eye to eye with each other in most matters.

_Just simply admit that you want to see him_, whispers a tiny voice in her head. Sybil ignores it, and as raindrops start falling even harder, she quickens her pace and practically runs to the dry safety of the garage.

"Why have you come in such rain? Is everything all right? " Branson asks, leaving the newspaper he's been reading on the nearby chair.

"I just want to talk to someone, am I not welcome?" Sybil teases, though she feels that her cheeks start to burn and she doesn't understand either what causes it or why she's so scared of it.

"You know very well that you're always welcome, milady," Branson answers with a small smile.

Sybil tries to smile too, but this expression of happiness quickly fades. "I know that it's personal, but I think that you do treat me as a friend, not your employer's daughter, so… Do you have any dreams?"

"Everyone has dreams, milady. Even if one is not fully aware of them. How sad our life would be without any, even subconscious, goals? Towards what would we be striving then? One cannot do anything productive when there is no impetus, reason involved. There's always something, even in the back of our minds, that tries to constantly remind us against any better, reasonable judgement, that it is worth to keep living, not only resign ourselves to merely existing."

Sybil sees the fire in his eyes, those eyes that are always _so_ honest and glowing. She has no doubt that he, as always, speaks his mind. Oh, how she admires his passion, his determination and dedication. And _yes,_ his eyes are beautiful as well, she has to admit. The girl allows herself to look straight into them for a moment; she cherishes the short moment when her heart is all in flutters and her breathing short and quick. Is she imagining things or… is he **really **looking at her _so_ tenderly?

She finally decides to put an end to this awkward moment. 'I must say that you are a person of great speech, Branson. It would be a real pity to waste such a talent. You should be a writer. A political writer. I know that I sound as if I was teasing you, but believe me, I'm completely sincere."

"Haven't I told you that I will not always be a chauffeur? I will try not to waste any opportunity for bettering myself. I certainly wouldn't mind being a political writer. But moving up the social ladder is not the most important thing for me."

Sybil's feels that her cheeks start burning again; is she again imagining something? His tone isn't exactly casual… but then maybe it is? She knows that she needs to say something in order to break the ensuing awkwardness once more.

"I don't know what my dreams are, to be honest. When I was younger, I knew what I wanted. But then I wasn't aware of any existing limitations. I didn't know that not everything might be a possibility. And now, with the war… I don't even know what the world will be like when it ends. I suppose that my only dream right now is a day without any bad news."

Branson nods, deeply lost in his thoughts. "I know what you mean. Sometimes I feel like I can only hope for the same. But it doesn't stop me from having some dreams or plans for the future."

Sybil doesn't know why she doesn't like what he's saying. She should be happy if her friend receives any opportunity for a better life, like she was when Gwen became a secretary for Mr. Bromidge; but somewhat she's sure that she will be far from ecstatic if Branson leaves Downton to start a new life.

"The last of my dreams that I was aware of was helping Gwen to get a job as a secretary," Sybil admits, trying to turn her thoughts away from Branson and his plans.

"I'm not surprised. It's so like you, milady. To think about others first, and only then about yourself."

Her cheeks have become hot again. This conversation too often takes a turn for the awkward; maybe it would be better to go home now. At this particular moment, she craves only some solitude and reflection.

"Thank you for this conversation and for being such a good friend to me. I really needed to talk to somebody."

"It's been a pleasure, milady. Take care," Branson says courteously and then reaches for her hand instinctively, in a purely comforting manner. As their fingers brush each other, he notices what he's actually doing and quickly withdraws his hand.

Sybil feels both comfortable and uncomfortable at this touch. Part of her wants to hold hands with him again, but another part tells her to escape immediately. In order to calm down that fearful part of her, she quickly turns on her heels and walks to the door. _This reminds me of a cornered animal's thoughtless escape_, she says to herself.

"See you later Branson. And take care too," Sybil finds strength to call as she leaves the garage.

The rain has stopped. The only drops of water falling on the gravel are Sybil Crawley's tears. She wants to find herself in her room as quickly as possible.

Once safe in the enclosed space of the room, the girl walks straight to the bed. She covers herself with sheets and sobs quietly into the pillow. She feels so terribly lost in everything, so purposeless, directionless. The worst thing is that she knows that deep down there are dreams that she terribly wants to be fulfilled. Yet, she don't or can't realize what they are. Even in her dreams.

The sobbing ends. The youngest Crawley sister's mind is finally at rest. But there are no healers or knights in her dreams this night - only one enormous wall of darkness with occasional glimpses of someone in a chauffeur's uniform.

* * *

**May 1916**

Sybil lies on her bed again during yet another painful evening. The chaos in her heard is intense once more; the chaos in her heart becomes even unbearable. She's seen him this evening to talk about what happened in Ireland. But he was so unresponsive. At times she felt as if he hadn't noticed her presence. Some time had passed before she heard him speak, _It's all shattered. All dreams. All hopes. Destroyed. Gone. Forever. _She had never seen him so resigned, bitter and doubtful about the future before. This realization hit her strongly.

_What if he goes to Ireland now? Branson's a man of action; he isn't the one to sit and wait while his dreams are being crushed. But if he's gone, she'll lose the only light in the dark tunnel her life has recently become. Don't be silly, Sybil. He may even be called up at any moment now. He doesn't need to go to Ireland for you to never see him again._

Another painful realization hits her strongly. Her pillow once more becomes wet with tears.

_Why do you care so much? Why does it hurt so much? Why do you feel that your own dreams are being gradually crushed too? He is your friend. Best friend. And yes, you've always had a… certain weakness for him. A crush? An infatuation? You can't feel anything more for him, you can't…_

_But you do._

This realization is yet another blow. And it is still followed by a new whirlwind of thoughts.

_You do. You've loved for him for years, actually. You were first too young to realize this feeling, then you were too scared of the danger it entailed to realize it fully. It isn't just a crush or an infatuation as you sometimes kept telling yourself. It's love. You can't bear thinking that he may live and pursue his dreams without you… or go to war and… _

In the chaos of her head, another thought slowly clarifies:

_I've suspected for some time that he may feel something for me, too. It hasn't been too obvious before, but recently… I'm rather sure that he feels something for me. He sometimes acts and talks in a way that leaves little doubt about the reason for his behavior. What's more, he is always so direct, honest and blunt. Branson is really bad at hiding his feelings, I noticed this a long time ago. But now he doesn't even attempt to hide them. It seems that he in fact wants me to know what he truly feels. Maybe he'll even act on his feelings? Branson's braver than me, more decisive; he knows what he wants from life…_

Suddenly, Sybil feels shivers running through her body.

_But he can't, he can't do this! This cannot happen. The only thing I can do is to see less of him. To kill these feelings, to forget him. Yes, this is the only sensible course of action. I also can't allow to give him any opportunity for… voicing anything. Maybe if I'm lucky he truly decides to leave (but God let him be safe!)…_

The thought about Branson leaving makes her feel terrible, internal pain. She feels so resigned, sick, confused and doubtful about the future. Her crying intensifies until she gradually finds relief in sleep.

In her sleep she sees a desolate, hopeless area, lashed by the heavily falling rain.

* * *

**November 1916**

_They won't hear. Not from me._

It all happened so quickly. Sybil tried to stop him, but to no avail. Something that she had hoped would still remain unvoiced, was voiced. He chose this day of all days. The day when she's taking an enormous leap anyway. How could he imagine that she would be able to make a decision at this point in her life?

She's already unpacked herself and now sits on the verge of the bed in her nursing college. She casts a quick look all over her new room. It's all different, so very different to what she's accustomed to. It's the so-called real world, not Downton's gilded cage. Will she rise up to this challenge?

_Why did you do it? I know that you've perhaps waited for long, but why did you do it today? It's impossible for me to give you any answer. It's even impossible for me to admit to you my feelings. I can't be yet committed to anything. I don't want to give you any false hope. I'm not as rebellious or sure about what I want from life as you perhaps think I am. I'm so confused and scared. What if had told you "yes" and it would all end in a disaster?_

She suddenly rises from her bed. The youngest Crawley sister cannot explain this action rationally (to be honest – she rarely can explain most of her actions lately), but feels a strange impulse that pushes her to search for some comfort. She takes a book out of her suitcase.

As always, _Ivanhoe _reminds her of her childhood. She imagines Papa reading it to Mary, Edith and her. Sybil recalls their lively discussions and differing opinions. She smiles. _We've always been so different._ The young woman now turns her mind to her favourite character, Rebecca. _A healer. A female healer. I dreamt of becoming one when I was younger. _Her eyes wander around the room once more. _Maybe I've been now given a chance to fulfil this dream. Not as a medieval healer, of course, but as a woman who helps the sick and troubled_. For the first time this evening, a smile appears on Lady Sybil's (hopefully soon Nurse Crawley's) lips.

_One of my old dreams has a chance of being fulfilled soon. What about the… other one? This one is so much more difficult to achieve… so much more difficult. I didn't understand why Rebecca and Ivanhoe couldn't be together back then. Now I do. I'm no longer that child. I'm no longer that naïve. Rebecca was rejected; I couldn't accept the man I love. Rebecca accepted her fate gracefully; she knew that what she dreamt of was impossible to achieve. But those were the Middle-Ages, now we have 20th century. Branson's right. Something is changing. But how big will that change be? What does he really have in mind? What if everything reverts to its previous state after the war? What will the world be like after the war? What will be her place in it? Is she strong enough? Is she able to do such a thing? _

Questions keep running through her head until finally her eyelids shut, and her mind decides to take a good, comforting rest.

_Maybe_ is the last word that her lips whisper before she falls asleep.

In her dream, she's a woman wandering through a green meadow during rain. She finds it hard to move through the wet grass and consequently walks with great difficulty, though with strong determination. Suddenly, she sees a man looming in a distance. Sybil starts to walk towards him.

_Please don't go before I reach you_,the future Nurse Crawley whispers into her pillow.

* * *

**Dublin, 1919**

Sybil Branson is awoken by the murmur of the softly falling raindrops which hit the windows gently. She turns lazily on her mattress, delighting in the warmth and safety of her bed. _Their _bed. Sybil chuckles quietly (and delightedly) when she hears Tom's characteristic snoring. At the time she was marrying him, she thought that she knew him very, very well, but he had never told her before about this annoying habit of his.

No, he's not a gentleman. Well, at least not in the sense her family and old acquaintances understand this word.

Sybil looks at him fondly and feels that a delicious warmth of contentment spreads throughout her body. She then lies on her side, watching him dreamily. The former aristocrat is now a proud nurse and wife, and most importantly - an _incredibly_ happy woman.

The rhythmic lullaby of the morning rain invites people to sleep and dream about their sweetest desires, but Sybil Branson does not want to give in to this temptation. She prefers to bend over her husband's face and tenderly kiss his cheek, while softly whispering _I love you_ directly into his ear.

She finally rises from the bed and approaches the window. Not caring about the still falling raindrops, she opens it and breathes in the fresh morning air. The woman looks admiringly at the bustling city in front of her eyes. Who needs wild medieval forests to get a taste of an adventure! It's time to prepare for work. New challenges await her as well as people who need her help and support.

Nurse Branson laughs again_. Her own medieval forest. Her own healing power. Her own wonderful, wonderful knight._

On her way to the bedroom door, she gives the sleeping figure of her husband another brief, longing look. It's time to start the day. It's time to do something.

_Because reality can be so, so much better than a dream._


	4. Car

_Hi, sorry for such a long break, but for obvious reasons I needed time to be able to continue with this fic.  
_

_There will be spoilers for S3, but from 3x05 onwards it will be an AU story. Moreover, the whole story is written in accordance with the "Sybil lives" framework.  
_

* * *

**Car**

* * *

**1913**

Tom Branson examined the car carefully – it was in a much better state than the vehicle that he had worked with at his previous place of employment. It was actually a better car overall. _Maybe it won't be that bad_, he sighed. Truth be told, he'd have preferred to stay in Ireland. But there was no talk about preferences when financial considerations were concerned – he needed to send some money to his Mam to Dublin (their material situation had worsened after the death of his father not long ago). Furthermore, Tom also hoped to save some money for what he called "a new life". "New life" meant doing something far more productive than driving rich people around – doing what he truly loved and at the same time contributing to improving people's lives. Poor people's lives, of course. In a way he did help to improve rich people's lives, though. _But it's only temporary_, he kept telling himself_. I must now use my mechanic skills properly to use the other ones in the future._

The chauffeur's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of merry giggles. He turned around and saw three women approaching. It had to be her Ladyship and two of the Earl's daughters. The girls were quite good-looking, especially the younger one. This girl also seemed to be rather lively and cheerful. Pity that most probably she was also very spoilt.

Working for the Earl of Grantham was quite a challenge for Tom Branson. Mrs Delderfield was not even near as rich or as high-positioned as Lord Grantham. Nevertheless, it was only a challenge that he hoped to overcome soon. Tom Branson was not afraid of challenges; he in fact gladly took them on.

The ladies approached the car and Tom moved to help them get into the car. Out of the three women, only the youngest of them met his eyes when he held his hand out to her.

_Maybe she isn't as spoilt as I thought_, whispered a tiny voice in Tom's head.

* * *

**Summer 1915**

Tom tried to be fully focused on driving the car cautiously. It was always difficult, however, when Sybil Crawley was sitting in the backseat. It was simply_ incredibly _hard not to turn his head back or even not to look into the car mirror. That was why he had an ambivalent attitude towards driving Sybil – on one hand, he was always happy to spend some time with her, but on the other hand he was afraid that one day he might become too distracted and put the woman he loved in a very dangerous situation.

"Branson," a quiet voice from the backseat interrupted his flow of thoughts.

"Yes, milady?"

"Can we stop for a moment?"

Tom was surprised by this request, but obeyed her wishes and parked the car at the first opportunity. Before he managed to get out of vehicle, though, Sybil had already left it.

She was staying at a patch of grass nearby, with her head directed towards the summer sky. Tom pondered for a while what to do and ultimately decided to approach her. He wasn't sure of his decision; not because he was a servant and Sybil a lady, but because she might have preferred to be alone for a moment. _We're friends. She told me that herself_, was the argument that finally convinced him how to deal with this situation.

When he approached his beloved, he noticed that her eyes were glassy; but she wasn't crying. She looked sad, but devoted all of her energies into _not _crying.

"Something's wrong, milady?" the chauffeur finally summoned the courage to ask.

The young woman hesitated with her answer for some time, but when she finally spoke, an uninterrupted flow of words came from her mouth, "It's just… I feel so powerless. More and more of my friends and acquaintances from before the war are dead. Everyone also worries about Matthew all the time. It's just… fear. I'm scared, Branson. So terribly, terribly scared. You know that I don't like things to be fixed or stable, but everything is changing too rapidly for my taste. Too rapidly."

Branson didn't know what to do or how to respond. He felt that she only needed to talk to someone and share her thoughts with a person whom she trusted. So he listened patiently and sent her signals that he heard everything that she had said. And when Lady Sybil decided to return to the car, he pressed her hand stronger than usual in an attempt to reassure the young lady of his constant support. She blushed in response, which yet again made him ponder the question that he was trying to answer for some time now, _Does she feel the same about me as I feel about her? Could she be in love with me?_

The car returned on the road, but its driver was again on the verge of falling into a thoughtful reverie. It was inconceivable to imagine how many times the Grantham's car was in danger of an accident because of its chauffeur's love life.

* * *

**1917**

It was late in the evening, but Tom Branson was still sitting at the garage instead of going to his cottage. Tom knew very well that no one would need a car at this hour, but he was so preoccupied with his thoughts and his pain that he couldn't even make the smallest move. Besides, here at the garage he didn't feel so alone with his thoughts. Maybe it sounded odd, but the car was for him what dogs are for many people – a loyal non-human friend who understands but does not say anything in response.

The young man glanced into the car mirror and saw a tired, pained face. He saw a man tired of uncertainty and restlessness. The swirl of thoughts only intensified.

_What should I do? Is it worth it to stay here and wait? Even if she does love me, will she ultimately go with me? Yes, I think that she does love me. I can see the clues that she's sending me. But at the same time she does not want to give me any concrete, definite answer. If she comes to me and says a definite no, I'll go. My heart will be broken, yes, but at least I'll be allowed to move forward. Now I'm in a limbo of uncertainty. Worse even, by staying here I may waste time that I could devote to some important matters… I do love my country so very much… but the truth is that I love Sybil Crawley even more. I cannot imagine my life without her. If there is even a tiny chance that she may become my wife one day… I won't waste it. My dreams and politics are important, but her love is even more important. If I have her by my side, I know that I'll be able to tackle anything; I'll be able to do anything with her at my side. It's Sybil Crawley who has motivated me even more than before to make something of myself… for her. It's because of her I'm more and more determined_ _to pursue a writing career. Yes, I will stay here until Sybil tells me a decisive "yes" or "no"…_

The last sentence was spoken loudly and directly to the unresponsive Renault. The vehicle might not have responded to its driver, but it was nonetheless a witness to Tom Branson's resolution and promise.

* * *

**January 1919**

The night was thankfully very, very dark; the moon was practically wholly covered by clouds. This fortunate development didn't make Tom any less nervous, though. _What if they're caught? What if he is sent away to Ireland, while Sybil is persuaded to stay at Downton?_

The flow of his thoughts was interrupted by the sound of someone approaching. A few minutes later, Sybil Crawley appeared out of darkness. The manner of her walk was quick, but cautious. What made Tom happy, however, was that a broad smile was visible on her face even in the surrounding darkness. Finally, she approached him and ran into his arms for a quick kiss. The romantic moment couldn't last long; they had to act very quickly.

"The car is ready, milady," murmured Tom against Sybil's lips.

"Tom, really…"

"Shh, my darling, I'm only teasing you"

"I know, but it's not time for any teasing. We must go."

Tom knew that she was perfectly right. Suddenly, something urgent struck him; something that he hadn't thought of before.

"Sybil… well… Will you ride in the backseat or in the front?" the young man inquired in an oddly nervous voice.

"I will ride in the front besides you, of course," his fiancée answered nonchalantly; for her this issue didn't require any consideration and she was actually surprised that Tom brought it up. "Oh and I can get into the car myself," she added.

Tom responded with a small smile, "No. I want to help you. It will give me an opportunity to hold your hand once more."

Sybil nodded in agreement and held out her hand to him, grinning.

Soon Lord Grantham's Renault entered the road to a new life.

* * *

**Spring 1920**

It was such an odd experience – not only to ride in the Crawleys' car as a passenger, but also to ride in the Crawleys' car that wasn't his familiar Renault. He would have felt better if he had been carried by that old friend. He looked briefly at Sybil – she was nervous too, but at the same time excited and happy to see her family. He, on the other hand, wasn't excited or happy in the slightest.

The car finally pulled up and Tom got out first to assist his wife.

He saw the wedding band glistening on her finger. He saw her broad smile.

A sudden wave of warm comfort spread throughout his body.


	5. Eveline

_Ok, now it's time for a chapter from Sybil's POV.  
_

_One of the reviewers requested a description of S/T wedding - I considered doing this here, but then remembered that I'll be soon writing about S/T wedding in "Lives"... so watch out for this one :) But I'll nevertheless try to include a scene from the wedding in one of the future oneshots as well :)_

_This chapter is strongly based on James Joyce's story entitled "Eveline". I recommend reading it online - it's just a short story and IMO quite an interesting read for S/T shippers.  
_

_But for those of you who do not want to read it or have no time to do so, I want to provide a summary of the story because otherwise this oneshot may be quite difficult to follow._

_Eveline is a story about a young woman living in Dublin, who leads a boring and unsatisfactory life. She meets a man called Frank who proposes to her and wants to to take her to Buenos Aires with him to start a new life. Eveline and Frank meet secretly because her father does not approve of their union. Finally, Eveline and Frank decide to board the ship to Argentina without telling anyone. Even before leaving home, Eveline begins having some doubts - she feels that it's her duty to take care of her father and brothers, especially since she promised this to her deceased mother. When Eveline and Frank arrive at the harbour, Frank boards the ship, but Eveline becomes internally paralyzed and is unable to follow him... The story ends with Frank on the ship, yelling to Eveline, who is unable to make even the slightest move..._

* * *

**Eveline**

* * *

** Autumn 1914**

_She sat at the window watching the evening invade the avenue. _

Sybil always loved to sit by the window in her room while reading. It was her own personal corner from which she could have an insight into a wider world (both literally and metaphorically) while at the same time remain safely detached from what was outside. Just a book in her hand and a window through which she might look during pauses in her reading - and she was content.

The book that she started reading today was borrowed from Branson. There was nothing unusual about it; exchanging books with him and later discussing them together was just another habit of hers, just as reading by the window was. Branson tried to especially acquaint her with Irish literature, which was totally understandable and actually quite flattering for Sybil – he didn't mind to share his country's heritage with the representative of its oppressor.

The book that he had lent her today was entitled _The Dubliners_.

_It's just a collection of short stories, milady. What is common for all of them is that they are set in Dublin. So, reading them was like coming home for me… like reliving certain things that I experienced, _Sybil recalled Branson's words. She had to admit that she was very eager to start reading this book – she saw it as another chance to get to know more about the young chauffeur. Branson was not secretive when talking to her; he did not shy away from talking about his life in Ireland, but Sybil was nevertheless aware that she might not understand everything that he was describing to her. The world that he was talking about was a completely different one to the one that she was part of.

This book. It was a chance.

* * *

She stopped reading after the fourth story.

It was the first story which was told from the perspective of a woman. A woman from Dublin, Branson's hometown. Did Branson encounter many women like Eveline? Did he encounter at least one such a woman?

Sybil tried to understand Eveline. Why did she want to leave Dublin and why didn't she leave after all?

Near the end of the story, the young woman was tempted to shout: "Go with the man who loves you and be happy!"

Sybil Crawley was a romantic, so she wanted the heroine to be with her lover. Sybil Crawley was also a lover of freedom – she wanted the heroine to be free of the constraints that surrounded her.

_But then should Eveline be blamed for not wanting to abandon her family and the place where she grew up? Even if that life was rather stifling and she wasn't perfectly happy there? _For some reason, Sybil did not want to reflect on that further. She closed the book and stopped thinking about that topic. At least for the time being.

* * *

** Winter 1917**

_She answered nothing. She felt her cheek pale and cold and, out of a maze of distress, she prayed to God to direct her, to show her what was her duty._

She had to read this story again. What had happened on that November day relived in her troubled mind. She had answered nothing then and she had no answer even now.

However, that November day had showed her that there was no escape from reflecting further.

Lady Sybil Crawley had to make a difficult choice. Lady Sybil Crawley was torn and lost. It had been easy to encourage a character from the story to follow her heart, but it was a whole different story to make that decision in real life.

_She tried to weigh each side of the question. In her home anyway she had shelter and food; she had those whom she had known all her life about her. Of course she had to work hard, both in the house and at business. What would they say of her in the Stores when they found out that she had run away with a fellow?_

She felt internally paralyzed. Like Eveline, who was unable to make even the smallest move in the station at the North Wall. She was still not ready to leave Downton behind, but at the same time her heart was screaming… for _him_.

_A bell clanged upon her heart. She felt him seize her hand:_

_"Come!"_

It was so tempting to say yes, to throw herself into Bran… Tom's arms and leave… where? Maybe to… Dublin? To the place that Eveline wanted to escape from… for her, Sybil Crawley, Dublin would be a beginning of a new life, though…

But what in case of failure? Maybe she would not adjust to a new life. Her reckless choice might bring suffering upon them both. There would be no coming back…

_All the seas of the world tumbled about her heart. He was drawing her into them: he would drown her. She gripped with both hands at the iron railing._

_"Come!"_

_No! No! No! It was impossible. Her hands clutched the iron in frenzy. Amid the seas she sent a cry of anguish._

She was scared, so very much scared; and her heart and head were in constant fight as well as turmoil.

She definitely needed one thing – time. But how long could he wait? He stayed when she had asked him to back in November, but how much longer would he be staying here when it was clear that he was not much interested in his job anymore?

Sybil was aware that it was not only a matter of whether Branson wanted to leave Downton soon – he might be forced to do so any day now.

_He rushed beyond the barrier and called to her to follow. He was shouted at to go on but he still called to her. She set her white face to him, passive, like a helpless animal._

Sybil could see this. Branson leaving, her heart breaking into pieces, unspoken feelings remaining unsaid forever, her heart staying unappeased for the rest of her life...

She _did_ feel like a passive, helpless animal. She _did._ How could she have judged Eveline previously?

It was strange for Sybil to see that fear was her biggest enemy. It felt like cowardice, but at the same time… it showed her that there were many things and people that she loved and cared about.

* * *

**January 1919**

_Escape! She must escape! Frank would save her. He would give her life, perhaps love, too. But she wanted to live. Why should she be unhappy? She had a right to happiness. Frank would take her in his arms, fold her in his arms. He would save her._

Tom was not just her "escape". First and foremost, he was the reason her eyes had been opened to new possibilities. Sybil knew that she would lead a different kind of life than her family regardless of circumstances, but she was also perfectly aware that she would have never considered abandoning the only life she had ever known if she hadn't met and fallen in love with Tom.

She owed him _so _much. What would she have been without him? Tom had introduced her to the other views than the ones expressed at Downton. Tom had inspired her to take on more than just supporting the charities that her family were patrons of. Tom had finally offered her a new life.

The youngest daughter of Lord Grantham was no longer afraid. She was now also ready to face all of the challenges that choosing this life entailed. And the fact that she would be facing these challenges with Tom by her side filled her with indescribable joy.

Soon, she would be able to be in Tom's arms each time she wanted to. No more longing, no more hiding. No longer would her soul cry for him during lonely, dark hours.

_She had consented to go away, to leave her home._

_But in her new home, in a distant unknown country, it would not be like that. Then she would be married-she, Eveline. People would treat her with respect then. She would not be treated as her mother had been. _

In Ireland, no one would see her as _Lady_ Sybil Crawley, but as _Mrs._ Sybil Branson. No longer would she be treated as some princess who had to be attended to. She would be a working woman, and no one would furrow their eyebrows.

Sybil Branson would lead a totally different life than her mother, sisters and grandmothers did.

_She was about to explore another life with Frank. Frank was very kind, manly, open-hearted. She was to go away with him by the night-boat to be his wife and to live with him in Buenos Ayres where he had a home waiting for her. _

Sybil still couldn't believe that there existed a man as wonderful as Tom. Never in her dreams had she envisioned that she would meet someone _so perfect_, _so right_ for her. They both felt that they were meant to be; that was why they were both aware that they could not give up on each other. Sybil knew she couldn't be happy with anyone else but Tom, and Tom had told her that it was the same for him.

It was all so clear – her home had to be wherever he was.

_Home! She looked round the room, reviewing all its familiar objects which she had dusted once a week for so many years, wondering where on earth all the dust came from. Perhaps she would never see again those familiar objects from which she had never dreamed of being divided._

Lady Sybil wasn't supposed to leave her childhood home in this way. Lady Sybil was supposed to leave Downton in an expensive wedding dress, clutching her father's arm on the way to a fancy carriage.

But then, wasn't _it_ more fitting for her? To leave Downton in her everyday clothes with just one suitcase?

Lady Sybil didn't care much about parting with material things; she only intended to take a few keepsakes and books with her. After all, she had been getting used to the idea of parting with them for the last couple of years.

_The evening deepened in the avenue. The white of two letters in her lap grew indistinct. One was to Harry; the other was to her father. Ernest had been her favourite but she liked Harry too. Her father was becoming old lately, she noticed; he would miss her._

On the other hand, the young woman knew that she would miss her family terribly. She prayed that they would understand her choice one day – that they would try to comprehend it not just with mind, but also with heart.

* * *

**April 1919**

The weather was definitely not encouraging that day – the whole sky was covered with heavy clouds and a strong wind was blowing into people's faces. Thankfully, the ship managed to moor safely into the harbour.

Slowly, passengers began descending the board. Most of those people's faces were gloom and apathetic; the lack of sun was taking its toll on the tired travellers. Especially since those passengers did not look into the future with excitement – what they only saw ahead were countless days of neverending routine.

But there were two people who did not look disheartened. They were a young couple who now heading towards the exit, smiling radiantly and laughing together. The man took the woman's hand and assisted her in leaving the ship. Once they were on the dry land, he took her into his arms and whispered: "So, you're a Dubliner now."

Sybil Crawley beamed merrily at her fiancé's words… and then she remembered.

* * *

**Next chapter will be most probably entitled "Ireland" and will be from Tom's POV.  
**


End file.
